On A Santa Free Christmas

So it's that time of year again...

For me, it's a hectic, stressful time.  Not just because Christmas, but because I work retail at Christmas.  This year, I have decided to pull back a bit, which has been helped by enforced limitations (broken oven, poor health).  Being on medication has aided me greatly in my ability to do this.

Me last Christmas night after all the madness.  
Enjoying some quality time with our cat family.

Don't get me wrong - I love Christmas.  For me, Christmas is the season of giving - which is why I often end up over-committing myself to gift projects and baking and events.  It is also the season of family.  Christmas Day is all about spending time with family - both my immediate and extended.  The time around Christmas is all about showing those friends and whanau further afield that I care.  This is important, because in the craziness that is daily life I know I miss a lot of opportunities to do this.  Christmas time is an opportunity to give to those who have already given so much to me.

And I can do all of these things without Santa.

The major problems I have with Santa are all expressed in this blog post from four years ago.  There is no point in restating these issues - for me nothing has changed. 

What has changed is that I now have more cognitive children who have their own ideas.  Whilst we have iterated to Etta that Santa is not real, but is a modern representation of St Nicholas (who we have taught her about), that many children grow up thinking he is real, and that is ok too.  While I'd love to say she understands that part of things - she doesn't.  I heard her tell her bestie that Santa wasn't real.  The bestie replied that she was wrong - he was real - she'd seen him at the mall.  Etta has also seen him at the mall.  She is on the fence about the reality of Santa.

Terrifying Queen Street Santa - 
The lord of creepy marketing

And that's ok.  The main thing for me is that I'm not lying, and there is no pressure on the 'good' and the 'bad' regarding presents at home.  What Etta chooses to believe is her choice.  We will not denigrate it.  But we will also not reinforce it by introducing gifts from this fiction at home.

Working in retail I have seen a new negative side to Santa.  The first weekend that Santa was in the mall the shopping atmosphere changed.  Overnight, it shifted from cavalier shoppers looking at their lists and feeling a bit smug about being on track for Christmas, to folk madly darting this way and that aimlessly searching for 'the right gift'.  I actually told a man who appeared to be losing his mind to go sit down and have a coffee and make a list on his phone before stepping back inside Farmers.  I was genuinely concerned for his ability to make rational decisions he wouldn't regret.  This was on the 25th of November.

This is in no way Mall Santa's fault.  This is 100% the fault of marketing and consumerism.  For many, Santa has become a visual symbol of the need to fulfill some weird emotional/fiscal obligation.  This is just sad.  While I agree with what many friends and family say - Santa is about giving - he has been commercialised to the point that he is also now associated with buying.  This is sad.  And it reaffirms to me that keeping my home free of this symbol is not a bad thing.

I work in retail, so I know that product placement for Christmas actually begins the last week of September.  Three months before the 25th of December.  It sounds insane (and I am of the mind that it is), but from a profit generation perspective it isn't.  It programs folk to be looking ahead for Christmas.  It helps fix that shopping mindset into the back of shoppers brains.  This is a great little read about just a few of the tactics employed by retailers coming up until Christmas.  Christmas is all about the dollars for retailers.

And Santa... Santa is the icon of the spending.

*         *          *         *         *         *          *         *          *         *          *         *        

This is just my perspective.  I am just trying to explain why we don't have Santa.  As I said earlier, I have no issue with other people having Santa.  And I am not trying to convince you to get rid of Santa - I am not going to be the Vegan at the Christmas dinner explaining all the bad things about pig farms* while you eat ham.  Eat the ham if you want - just understand that it's ok if I choose not to partake.

I am saying this as we have experienced all sorts of responses to us not having Santa.  From straight up outrage, to accusations of 'ruining the magic of childhood', to assumptions that we must be Jehovah's Witnesses - or more generally that we must not celebrate Christmas.  I do struggle to understand why something which has no impact on anyone but us, is any kind of a big deal to anyone else.

Because for us, it's not.  It helps us focus on our family and how we show appreciation for each other.  Our kids know their gifts come from us, because we love them and work hard to choose things that both reflect our values, and their interests.  It helps us not go OTT.  Christmas is a time to recharge - Christmas stocking fillers in our house include things like batteries, new felt pens (if needed), sunblock, bubble bath and fruit.  They do get treat things too, but we try to keep these to a minimum as we know they will be spoiled with this stuff from other family members**.

Shoeboxes with little gifts and treats (under $15 each)

Simplifying also helps us have a little more money at Christmas time to give to others who have greater need than us.  This year the kids decided to do Christmas In A Shoebox and we made up boxes for children in Northland that may otherwise not have very much (if anything) for Christmas.  When they are bigger, I hope we can do more together for charity.  To me - this is all part of giving at Christmas - it's important to give back to our community.

People are in shock that many children are asking for socks and underwear for Christmas.  I struggle to understand how this is shocking when we have the worst homelessness rates in the OECD.  I cannot say how big my Christmas wish is that this were not the case.  I am not trying to be a downer - but I cannot celebrate Christmas without being conscious that so many others are less fortunate than I am.  And it is important to me that my children understand this so they can have compassion for others at what, for some, is an extremely difficult time of the year.

Christmas is a time of added stress for many.  It is unsurprising that our domestic violence rates peak during the holiday period.  There is more financial pressure, there is more pressure on additional childcare (holidays) and there is more pressure to spend time with family.  It is also a time where people may acutely feel a lack of family - maybe they have become estranged, maybe someone they love has passed away in the last year.  During this time of year, these losses can feel much more acute.

Christmas can be hard for many people for many reasons.  It is important to remember this.

In saying that, we still celebrate.  We still gather as a family.  We have a tree.  I make and bake gifts.  We still eat delicious food*** and crack crackers and tell bad jokes.  We still enjoy each others company and share gifts and good times and kindness.  We can remember others, and we can still celebrate what we have.
 
And our kids still definitely share in the magic that is Christmas.     

Etta and Abby last Christmas playing with a singing Christmas ball

in a tent at Nana and Poppa's

Meri Kirihimete everyone!  No matter how you celebrate.  No matter how much or how little you have, I wish everyone peace and love and kindness at this time of the year.

* This example is not indicative of all vegans.
** And we have a really big family! 
*** No ham in this house either.

On Forging A New Relationship With My Body

So earlier this year I tried to do healthier things to lose weight.

I tried properly, in my own way (which is not extreme, as extreme doesn't work well with my mental health) and I stopped blogging about it fairly quickly because for the first time ever my attempts at losing weight felt, well, futile.  I did lose a little bit of weight, but it was gradual.  Like, 100 to 200 grams a week gradual.  Like, I'd rather have just eaten the food and not cared gradual.

So I kinda gave up.

It's not like I usually eat really badly.  In fact, after finding out about my fibroid I went onto a low inflammatory diet* to help manage my pain levels (which, by the way, has worked).  I genuinely like vegetables.  I seldom snack.  I do eat junk food and takeaways, but I try to moderate it and mix it up with loads of vegetarian deliciousness at home.  So it's not like I'm unhealthy, I'm just bigger than I used to be.

Me pre babies - comfy in my skin

And I think what has been most unhelpful with being bigger has been with feeling like I need to be back to how I was before.  This feeling that I should be 8 kg lighter - the weight I was before babies - has meant that I haven't bought nice clothes that fit me - since buying maternity wear.  It has taken me the 2 1/2 years since having my last baby to reconcile that actually, I am ok in this new body - for now anyway.  I have other priorities at the moment, and my health is still good.  What I actually need is just to buy some better fitting clothes.

 Me in new body - no clue what to do with it

 I think this has been a difficult conclusion for me to draw because I have been roughly the same size (apart from unhealthy low weight periods) for my entire adult life.  So buying clothes of a different fit feels as though I have to re-imagine myself as a different person.  Even though I don't feel very different at all.

The other side to this is the realisation that I'm older than I once was.  I've had this conversation with loads of my friends and it's that thing where you don't feel any older than you were at 18.  I think that people should dress however they like - I don't agree with ageist 'rules' of dress.  But I do feel like maybe I am missing out on feeling better in myself by not upgrading my wardrobe to match my phase of life more comfortably.  I mean, I like being ID'ed for booze still at 36, and mistaken for a 20 something young thing at work, but sometimes it's also nice to be treated like a grown up. 

Weirdo pre-kids Hannah.  Shaved head, 
builder hat, rabbit fur coat, merino dress?
Why not?

When you've been dressing the same way since pretty much forever**, the idea of finding a new kind of style is quite scary.  Especially when you're not that keen on fashion, or being trendy, or actually have any kind of clue how to dress yourself.  In my old body - that stuff didn't really matter.  I dressed like a weirdo and I didn't care what people thought because I felt ok in myself.  But with feeling a little more self-conscious of certain parts of my body - it's different now.  It's not that I'm a lot bigger - I'm only one size bigger.  It's more that parts of my body aren't as toned as they once were so I'm more self conscious about them.

So, and this sounds ridiculous, I had to Google 'how to dress'.  Ugh.

The funniest thing about this is that two other women I spoke to within the same week as my search had done the same thing.  I was so glad to hear that I was not alone.  And honestly, that gave me the push I needed to buy some new damn pants!

Pants (or trousers if you're British, I'm not talking about underwear) have been my main problem.  I no longer fit my jeans comfortably.  Not just because I'm bigger, but because my abdominal surgeries and my fibroid mean that denim just isn't comfortable any more.  In Winter, I just rocked me some trackpants and pretened like that was ok.  It wasn't - I had basically given up on having any personal style.  And now it was Summer so it was really time for a pants overhaul.  And - I decided - no more jeans.  Number one rule in my new wardrobe is that it has to be comfortable.  Because what I've noticed is that the clothes I have that I like but that aren't comfortable, don't get worn.

I also want to buy clothes that suit my regular personal style.  Which is, I guess if you had to put a word on it, flamboyant.  But also lazy***.  And stuff I can run around after children in without embarrassing myself.  And cheap.  I'm not made of money, and even if I were, I'd rather spend it elsewhere.  Also I need clothes that cover my skin (but breathe) for several reasons:

1) Bugs like me and my skin reacts to them.  Consequently, I often have large itchy welts which, if seen by the public, could lead folk to the assumption that I am diseased, or, in the least, lice ridden.
2) It's Summer and the sun is not my friend.  A skin specialist told me I shouldn't live in NZ.  True story.  Basically, I treat my skin like I'm a ginger person.
3) I have excoriation disorder.  This means I sometimes - unconsciously - pick my skin.  I do it when I'm stressed.  I only seem to do it on my upper arms so I like to have clothes that cover this area because it is a bit scarred, and if I've been picking, it's also spotty (and if the area is covered, I'm less likely to pick****).

A bit complicated to program all of this into a Google search...

However I did take some advice from some of the Google spews I read about 'dressing for my shape (and height).  That advice was high waisted pants.  With that one piece of information I bravely went forth to the interweb and looked at my favorite local clothing websites in the hunt of cheap, good pants.  THEN, once found, I did the smart thing and went to the store and tried on the pants to see if I could live with them.

Magic pants

It was like heaven.

Yes, they looked a bit different to what I was used to.  But I truly had no idea I could buy pants as comfortable as pyjama pants and wear them during the daytime without social persecution.  This one pair of pants (my 'fatpants') were the gateway to me re imagining my whole wardrobe.  With the confidence gained from my new fat pants I braved the Pagani factory store in the hopes of finding more cheap clothes.  There I gleaned MORE comfortable pants, a floaty Summer over top thing AND a dress for my work Christmas do.  And they were cheap - $5 comfy pants.  Magic.

My $5 outfit - all items cost $5 each*****

My wardrobe theory with the kids is that three is the magic number - I have applied this to myself also.  After receiving an email about a sneaky 50% discount at another women's fashion store where I hoped to grab some basics, en route I saw that Glassons clearance clothing was all $10 or less.  FOR ONE DAY ONLY!  Price was right, and resulted in my third pair of 'fat pants' - the most pyjamaesque yet.

Three comfy pants to build a new Summer wardrobe around.  Which cost me $40 in total and GAINED me a tonne of confidence in myself.  To that, I've added a couple of floaty shirt things for bad-arm (or sunny) days and a new singlet or two.  It has cost me under $100 to rebuild my wardrobe (including the work do dress which I plan to wear the shit out of) enough to facilitate my change in shape.

The most pyjamaesque daywear I have.
OTT Stripes?  YES!  And I LOVE it!

And I feel great!

And I'm sure I'll feel even better when I have the energy to brave budget bra shopping.

* Not following the rules persay, just avoiding the foods that I know don't work well with my system (foods high in gluten or lactose, red meat, sugar and fizzy drinks)

** Apart from forays into 50's fashion (ditched when I broke my ankle as can no longer cope with heels).

*** I don't usually buy materials that require ironing, because - fuck ironing.

**** It's a coping method.  I don't do all the time and it doesn't really interfere with my life negatively so not really quite at the 'disordered' end of the spectrum.  I'm ok with it.  And no, it doesn't hurt.  I'm used to it.  Hence me not even realising I'm doing it.

***** I know this is by far the best look in terms of 'slimming'.  But I like my stripy PJ pants too.  So I don't care if I look a little bigger in them.  I do have serious booty, and I'm not afraid of it (also aware if I hadn't put my arm there you could see it in this photo and consequently I'd look slimmer.)

A Snippet from my Suburban Birds Zine

It's only a week to go until my exhibition and zine launch!

I am simultaneously excited and terrified.

And busy.  There is always more to do.

Consequently, I did not post a blog yesterday.  So decided instead, to post a snippet from my zine for your perusal.  Enjoy!  The zine will be released next Saturday (25th of November) and you can purchase it from me for $15.  OR ask your local library if they'd like to buy a copy.  It's registered with an ISBN so totally easy for them to buy.

 Me in the pink - a country kid                

Nostalgia and Sense of Self               

 

This project was born of nostalgia.  Growing up on farms one of my favourite things to do was to lie in the paddocks' long grass and wait.  Eventually, the curious cattle would move so close I could peer right up into their wet noses and grass stained grins.  I would lie prone as long as my little body could hold the suspense, then leap up chortling at the terror I unleashed in the eyes of my horrified friends.  I climbed low branched trees and perched, with pen and paper, to write poems and short fictions while watching the birds above and the sheep below.              

For a time, at a very deep level of my consciousness this aspect of my person seemed lost.  Moving to the suburbs to start a family reinforced this sense of loss.  I never expected to raise children in the suburbs.  I never expected this because I could not imagine anything more amazing than growing up in the isolated country as I did.  And I naively assumed that either I would never have children, or that somehow having children would herald a return to rural life.

So I never expected to be a suburban housewife.  Most of the previous ten years of my life near the city I lived a frenetic life: day jobs, art projects, nights filled with gigs, openings and book launches.  

   Me featured in Black Magazine -
     Crazy knitting housewife lady

But somehow I simultaneously predicted this future.  I parodied housewifery through my work at design school.  I printed scenes of my family scrap-booking.  I knitted mundane objects – like life-size lamp-posts to poke fun at the every day.  My work investigated the meditative qualities of repetition, and its relationship to the female experience.  Life in the suburbs always struck me as so banal, so boring.  And in my view of my self – an art student who made ridiculous unmarketable objects - I was neither of those things.

But there I was, another suburban housewife.  Two children in under two years, pushing a Mountain Buggy with one hand, while pulling a reluctant toddler along with the other.  It felt simultaneously unreal and like the natural trajectory of my life.  I both missed my former life, and felt grateful for the excuse (children) to no longer live it.

But the longer I stayed away from my the book launches and exhibition openings the more invisible I began to feel.  I felt an enormous sense of loss, not just in the divide between myself and my childless friends, but in my sense of self.  I have always been a creative - but becoming a Mum sapped me of creative energy.  Before pregnancy I always planned on my kids having the most amazing knitted clothing and toys.  Pregnancy stole my brain; I locked the workplace toilet key in the toilet four times, I couldn't write my own patterns any more.

 Motherhood: Completely changed my world

And once my first child was born I couldn't write poetry either.  Holding this small thing my partner and I had made and were wholly responsible for made poetry seem pretty redundant.  How could anything matter as much as this small person?  How could I ever write anything as meaningful as her existence?  I attempted writing many times and deleted every line.  It all felt so dishonest.

Whilst genuinely enjoying the journey of motherhood, this inability to create fed my anxiety.

In times of difficulty in managing my mental health I have regularly returned to gratitude.  Regular contemplation of the things you are grateful for is a researched, proven and simple method to manage depression.  And it's a method that has always worked for me.  On one of my many excursions into getting well I realised how regularly what I was most grateful for, was the birds.

 

A rosella would flit briefly into the macrocarpa tree overhanging our driveway.  A sparrow would turn its head just so and throw me a cheeky look.  A blackbird would perch on the neighbours rooftop and its sing its little heart out just to mark the coming dusk.

In discovering how much of a salve birds were to my mental state, I began to wonder why.  Why did these little brown sparrows have the capacity to impact my life so profoundly?

Photograph from Day 6

I realised it was because I felt akin to the sparrows.  As a housewife, I felt like I had become invisible.  I was there, I existed, I went places and I did things, but because of my feelings of what it meant to be 'just a housewife' I did not really exist.  The sparrows were the same.  They were everywhere, they are brown and dull.  But looking closely you come to see them as individuals.  Like us, they live their lives in patterns, but moment to moment they can be dazzling and funny and beautiful.  Capturing a bird in a moment of joy is a window into a glorious life.

Seeing this in the birds, truly seeing it, day after day began to give my life more relevance.  Not only mine, but the lives of my peers.

In writing off my suburban parenthood as invisible, I had written off the value of my friends and family who were also parents.  This was not a conscious thing.  I am a feminist.  I strongly value women's work and experience, particularly that of parents.  But my belief in the value of the varied experiences of women was meaningless if I couldn't apply it to myself.

The birds brought back the little girl laid out in the paddock.  They built the bridge back through time to the suspense before the joy of simple things.  They showed me I had the capacity to completely engage with nature where-ever I was.  Because it was part of who I was.  They helped me value my experience, and the experiences of other suburban Mums. 

Discovering the birds reconnected me to my creative self.

 Fantail - drawing from earlier this week

On Having Amazing Mum Friends

I have some amazing Mum friends.

I have Mum friends that keep their houses tidy.

I have Mum friends that also have successful careers.

I have Mum friends that run marathons.

I have Mum friends with amazing hair.

I have Mum friends that are work and write amazing plays.

I have Mum friends who still create and exhibit art in galleries 

I have Mum friends that write award nominated books. 

                Andra, I think you're amazing

I have Mum friends that have no family close by.

 

I have Single Mum friends.

And while I love my family and life, it is a daily struggle not to compare myself with my many  successful Mum friends.

 

I am not sure if this is a thing that Mums from creative backgrounds struggle with more intently than regular Mums.  But I think not.  I think most Mums probably compare themselves in some ways with others.  And while I'm sure this has always been the case (how does Mrs Jones get her nappies so white?), I also think the advent of social media has exacerbated the ways in which we compare ourselves.

How do they get their nappies so white?  Maybe sunshine?

Because now we have an insight into our Mum friends kids lunchboxes, holidays, meal plans, work-life balance and how fine they're looking post baby-belly.

And it's tough.

At the moment my house is a shambles.  The rubbish bins need to be emptied.  The fridge and freezers need to be cleaned out.  The bathroom needs a general scrub and the kids rooms are both atrocious.  I did clean my bedroom this week - the state it was in was starting to impact on my sleep.  I am embarrassed to have my Mum over and fearful that - post recent surgery - she will tidy up while Abby and I nap (she did, by the way).

The house looks like shit but look! I drew this bird.

There are a multitude of reasons for this mess.  The main one being that I am working on my Suburban Birds project to get it set for the zine to launch in a few weeks.  And Abby's started waking more overnight and starts her day at 5am.  And I have been quite unwell this week and struggling to do anything.  And I have pre-schoolers who, bless their wee souls, leave a path of destruction in their wake.  So I tend to focus on the necessary cleaning (pee, poo, washing, dishes) and leave the rest.

But somehow in a few weeks, the parts of the house that will be seen will be clean enough, my zine will be complete* and my exhibition will be hung.  And even though this is the first time I've exhibited work since I've had kids, or written anything that's been (self)published, and even though my Christmas shopping is still not done, the garden has gone to pot and the floor in the kitchen still needs replacing I am sure I will have some Mum friends that will think 'How does she manage this when she's a Mum?'

Ahhh, my beautiful jelly.                 

What you can't see here is that it didn't set properly.

We need to remember that people clean up before we visit them.  That the biscuits they've given us aren't necessarily the first batch, and that some people have childcare available.  We need to remember that what we're seeing and comparing ourselves with is only what is presented to us - it's just a tiny snippet of someone else's life.  And on social media these snippets are edited and selected to put our best face forward.

When we compare ourselves to others we are often missing most of the picture.  We usually don't know how much people earn, their family circumstances, their expectations, their experience.  We don't know how much support people have, how healthy they are, if they have cleaners or nannies or family support.  We may know some of these things - particularly of our close friends - but it's unlikely we have the full picture most of the time.

It has taken me a long time to come to terms with the fact that I simply need more sleep to be functional than some people I know**.  Consequently, I have less productive hours in the day to work with.  Rather than feeling guilty or comparing myself to people with different circumstances, I should focus on what I am doing with the hours I have.  And to remember there are people who need more sleep that have even less time than me.

Check out this photo of a pigeon!  
Don't look in my kitchen...

And because I am embarrassed by the shambolic aspects of my life I, like many others, only post the images that project the image of myself, or my family, that I want people to see.  We have to realise that while we're busy coveting some aspect of another amazing Mums life, someone is likely coveting yours.

We are all amazing Mums*** in some form or another.  Rather than coveting those other amazing Mums we should revel in the amazing things we have, the amazing things we do and the amazing people we are.  Because within the context of our own lives - these snippeted highlights - even if they may seem small in the context of the larger world - are still extraordinary.


* It will not be perfect, but it will exist as a physical object in the world.

** I am pretty sure this is from when I had undiagnosed Glandular Fever in my early 20's as this seems to be when it started.  My immunity is awesome - I am seldom sick - so long as I get enough rest.  It's not a crazy amount - just 7 to 8 hours of quality sleep - but difficult to achieve with kids and intermittent insomnia.  I note this sleep thing because I know some people I know feel like 4 to 5 hours is ample.  And I kinda envy them.

*** You may not be someone's Mum exactly, but I'm sure you will Mum someone (colleagues, parents, guinea pigs).  And even if you don't - pretty sure this thing probably applies to most people.  Aside from those who think they are better than everyone.
 

On The Problem With Thursdays

Does anyone else get anxious about downtime?

Every Thursday my Mother and Father in law take the kids.
For.  The.  Whole.  Day.

How lucky am I as a mostly stay at home Mum of two pre-schoolers?  In case you don't know the answer to that - so friggin lucky?

The kids chillin' with Poppa - works for me!     

   

The problem is that before the kids have even left the house on Thursday, I start freaking out.  Because it is the only day of the week I can do things around the house that are tricky to do with small children.

In our house this means anything that I need to concentrate to do.  Because two preschoolers = being interrupted every few minutes.

And I'm supposed to also use this time to help manage my mental health by doing things like:

• Resting
• Basic self care (shower/bath)
• Socialising
• Medical appointments
• Other self care (bird watching/going to a movie/walking/just chilling)

I did take myself to go see Flatliners the first Thursday I had with no kids.  Loved it

And it's just plain easier to do some of the household chores without kids like:

• Grocery shopping
• Large amounts of clothes/bedding washing
• Concentrated* gardening (or dangerous gardening like lopping tree branches)
• Concentrated food prep (complex meal or things like jam or sweets)
• Vacuuming more than one room at a time
• General tidying

And at the moment I am trying to do numerous things which require a level of concentration to do including (but not limited to):

• Writing blog posts
• Sanding and re-painting the hallway
• Working on my art projects for an upcoming exhibition
• Packing half of the house (our floors are getting replaced at unknown date in future and we must move everything out of half of the house with 48 hours notice.  So I'm opting to pack all unnecessary things now to avoid future stress and hassle).

 So what has been happening fairly often since I got my Thursdays back (In laws were away in Africa for 7 weeks and was working Thursdays before that) is that I actually have a panic attack on Thursday mornings.  I am so overwhelmed by having this precious gift of alone time, and feel terrified that I will somehow squander it.  And then it'll be another week until I have this time again.

A regular Thursday list             

        

One of my coping strategies - just generally for life - is that every morning I write a list of what I'd
like to get done.  Over time I have learned I need to include things like resting and socialising to ensure I don't forget to just chill out for a bit, or feel guilty for going 'off list' if I do so.  What has been happening on Thursdays is that the list of what I would like to get done is often so extensive that I know I have to be on task all day to get it done.  Like, even if 'seeing a movie' is on the list there is a scheduled time for it, and I cannot deviate from that or I won't get the rest of the list of 'proper jobs' done.

Every Thursday morning feels like I'm prepping to run a marathon.

There are a number of practical solutions that would remedy this.  One would be doing more things in the evenings.  The only problem with this is that my brain is a day-time brain, and functions less well at night (particularly when I'm lacking in sleep, which is often the case).  So while I can do something things at night (and do) like photo editing and stream-of-conscious style writing, I can't do stuff that requires brain like editing or drawing.  The other solution would be to palm this work off onto the weekends.  Unfortunately, I work on Sundays and Saturdays is the only day of the week we get to spend together as a family, so it is difficult to justify using that precious window of time for things other than that.

But this Thursday I did something different.

On Wednesday night I was well aware that I had a day of potential freak out ahead.  After a big talk with Murray about general stuff (which was very helpful) I had a moment of clarity.  There are many genuine reasons for me to feel anxious at the moment.  But the biggest thing causing me issues is fear around my upcoming exhibition.

Having not had work on public display for a long time, it's natural I'm anxious about exhibiting.  It's also the first time I will have shown work alone outside of an educational setting.  I am used to the teamwork of an exhibition, the camaraderie, having people to critique your work and how you choose to show it.  This time it's all on me.  And even though this is not exactly a 'professional' exhibition, and have just opened it up to friends and whanau, it still feels like a big deal.  Because it's the culmination of a year of exploration.

I realised I had fallen back into the trap of trying to make things 'perfect'.  That when things were not working out according to my plan, rather than making a plan B I was just stuck.  And things were often not going to plan as I had kids now, and less time and brain, and should have been creating plans B through Z to manage this.  Instead, my anxiety would trigger because I felt stuck and that time was slipping away.  Consequently, I was getting little done which amplified this feeling. 

Magical list of wiseness.  What a difference a day makes, huh?

So on Wednesday night I wrote an extensive list of what I wanted to get done for the exhibition - including finishing the hallway, and the zine.  Then honestly ticked whether each item was 'necessary' or 'optional'.  This cut my list of what actually needed to be done down massively.  I then planned out the next three weeks with what actually needed to get done to be on track to having a finished show.

Yesterday I woke up, and felt a little anxious.  But I had a list.  I had a list which I knew was completely possible to achieve within the timeframe and incorporated in rest and downtime.  And I knew that I would not be behind schedule if I completed this list as in, I still had ample time to complete the rest of the tasks for this week.

And I had a great day.  I stuck to my list.  I fulfilled my tasks.  I was chilled out enough that I could actually nap - something I haven't been able to do during my 'rest' day Thursdays for about a month now due to chronic anxiety and/or time constraints.  And I managed to work whilst watching crappy wondrous TV - just like I used to do back at art school - one of my favorite work methodologies.  And I was happy with the work I got done.  In fact, I only have one more 'job' left to do this week to keep on track for the exhibition.

I drew something I like!

 

And while focusing on the exhibition meant not focusing on my blog, or the housework or a fancy dinner - the sky did not fall on my head.  And in reality I still actually vacuumed part of the house, cleaned the oven, washed the dishes and did two loads of washing and packed another box for when the floor gets done - so it wasn't like the house was ignored.

And also it provided some fodder for this cheat blog...

* As opposed to haphazard gardening - which I do irregularly with the kids (they're happy, and small bits get done - so I'm happy)

Me Too Part Two

Last weeks post had the highest initial hit rate of anything I've posted to date.  I think this is thanks to the zeitgeist of the #metoo campaign, however this doesn't lessen the personal relevance of this topic.  Today I'm focusing on addressing questions that came up - both from others and from myself - from the last post.

The first thing I want to restate is that my intention with blogging is not to shock.  I write to help people feel less alone in their experiences.  I mean this generally - not just in terms of last weeks topic.  It took going to rehab to come to this realisation myself and it completely changed my life.  Because no matter what you've experienced in life, someone else will have experienced it too.

Maybe not down to the infinitesimal details - but the crux will be the same.  For me, realising I was not alone helped me feel stronger - like thousands of strangers were standing behind me and propping me up.  When I write, I hope to impart this feeling to others.  Yes, reading something on the internet is a dilution of living with people like yourself (as I did in rehab) - but the gist is the same.  You are not alone.  Someone else understands what you are going through no matter how strange or awful it is.
I promise you this.

* * *

The next thing I want to say is that I know my post did shock some people.  I'm glad as it means that some people have not had the experiences I have.  When I look back at my life objectively it is not an exaggeration to say I was an easy target for this kind of abuse.

• I came from an unstable nuclear family
• My parents came from unstable families
• I had an upbringing focused on the differences in the roles of men and women
• I grew up in an era where it was commonplace to leave kids to their own devices
• I was a fast developer

Coming from an unstable family meant that it was difficult for me to feel I could rely on my parents.  And moving frequently meant it was difficult to build stable relationships with adults outside of my family.  I felt independent from a very young age - I think this was a combination of situation and personality.  As a means of maintaining my independent position, I rarely took my problems to my parents.  They had other stuff going on and I genuinely believed I was better at managing them myself.

In defense of my parents, they both grew up in unstable homes too.  I will say no more than that as it's their story to tell, but it is an objective truth.  Both of my parents wanted to be better parents than they felt their parents had been.  And for the most part they were good parents.  We were by no means neglected and we were definitely loved.  But I think they lacked the skills - having not had it themselves - to really emotionally connect with us.  As a child I never felt close to either of my parents.  And living among the instability of their relationship further distanced me from them.

Haphazard religion provided an odd focus on some old fashioned ideas regarding gender roles.  Growing up on farms, I learned that a woman could do anything provided she came home and cooked and cleaned afterward.  And good women kept their hair long.  A dominant scary father and submissive, shy mother were my gender role models.  And whilst from a young age I rallied to be defined differently, it was difficult to fight my conditioning.

And it was the 80's.  I think people may have forgotten how normal it was to just let kids play by themselves back then.  In this respect my childhood was no different than that of my peers.  In truth, we were even more closely monitored than many kids I knew.  And in the country especially, most of the time (I feel) we were safe.

To me Boy reflected how things were growing up in the country in the 80's,

albeit a more extreme reflection than how I personally grew up.

The only times these incidents took place was when there were small opportunistic windows.  And they only happened more than once because I never said anything.

* * *

And once something becomes a bit dented it breaks more easily the next time it falls.

Being exposed to sexual things early made me come to expect these experiences as normal*.  I had also been groomed my entire life to be a 'nice girl'.  I found (and still find) it hard to deviate from this.  As a 'nice' teenage girl with early sexual encounters I struggled to understand how to set boundaries in terms of sex.  I struggled to even understand my own sexuality, as it always seemed be defined by who I was with.  I was a 'nice' girl - lost.

Teen me, my boyfriend and bro crew (faces greyed for privacy.

I soon found a solution to that boundary setting problem which meant I rarely had to deviate from 'nice'.  I became a serial monogamist.  Constantly having a boyfriend meant I no longer had to have those awkward conversations.  I could just say 'Sorry, I have a boyfriend'.  This was especially helpful as growing up, most of my friends were boys**.  Always having a boyfriend meant I could still hang out with my guy mates as mates with no worries.  The longest I've ever been single since I was fourteen was for about three months.

Before I came up with that solution however, I tried something else.  Hitting puberty before my peers was hard.  There were different expectations of me and new interest in me.  This was uncomfortable, along with the new feeling of jiggle when I ran.  And when things became worse at home and we*** finally left, I started trying to instill my own control with how I ate.

I wouldn't say I was anorexic - my weight loss and outlook were never that extreme.  I would say I went through periods of very unhealthy relationships with food.

After cutting so much from my diet that my body started to reject food (uncontrollably vomiting after eating) I freaked out a bit and made a conscious effort to eat more normally.  Since then though - up until my mid 20's I had patches of binging and purging, excessive exercising and extreme dieting - each incident sparked by something in my life which triggered a strong urge to control whatever I could.  This hasn't been problematic for years, but viewing food as a facilitator of control or pleasure is something that will never go away.

The latest Kardashian cover

Following this, I tried to love the body I was in - curvy.  But not seeing this body type reflected on TV or in magazines at that time, I turned to the only outlet that seemed to appreciate women who looked like me - pornography.  I watched it.  I read it.  I drew pictures of it.  It wasn't a thing of sexual titillation - it was just the only way I could see women who looked like me 'appreciated' other than in paintings that were hundreds of years old.  None of this will have helped me in terms of having realistic expectations regarding my body, sex and relationships.

These days, us curvy ladies have the Kardashians to look up to.  But like the women in porno, they are there to sell one thing - sex****.  If society idolised women based on their skills rather than their looks we could begin to see a larger representation of women in terms of looks.  And the focus would start to shift from what we looked like at all.  To me, this is optimal in terms of shifting the focus from women as objects to women as people.

The Librarians 'cover' - way more awesome

* * *

The other thing I realised after posting is that in all my history of this stuff is that I never personally experienced any kind of workplace sexual harassment.   Have I witnessed it?  Yes, a number of times.  But it never happened to me.

I think this is because at work I'm quite a different person.  Work has preset boundaries which makes it easier for me to set personal boundaries.  Also, I'm kinda bolshy - I'm the person people dreaded having in operations meetings because I would always bring up (important) issues not on the agenda.  In the workplace colleagues were (and maybe still are?) a bit scared of me.  Consequently, they have never been any kind of sexual threat.

The kinds of women I've seen harassed at work were almost the antithesis of me at work - shy, soft-spoken, or possessing a fragility obvious underneath a staunch facade - this hasn't changed over the 20+ years I've worked.  It's horrible.  I've seen sexual harassment perpetrated by colleagues, bosses, clients and customers.  They purposefully target quieter women as they seem like a 'safe' bet.  And in only one instance I witnessed did the victim actually speak up about her experience (I was her boss.  We took it to HR.  We sorted it).

In every case I have seen (bar one, and I still feel bad about it) I have encouraged these women to speak up.  Sadly, not all of them did.  I had one workmate who suffered ongoing harassment from customers.  I encouraged her to talk to our manager but she didn't want to be a problem.  I knew our manager would back her - it was a very caring family business we worked for.  Regardless, she was scared she would lose her job.  I couldn't speak for her - I understood and respected her position - how could I not?  I was in it so often in my own life.  But I still felt sad for her.

Thank you Taylor Swift for outing this opportunistic creep.  Straight up workplace harassment.

* * *

I think I could write about this all day every day and still have more to say.  But I have to leave it here for now.

I am so grateful for all the people who messaged me - publicly or in private - last week.  Mostly because it shows we are starting to open up a dialogue about these uncomfortable things.  Because they need to be talked about***** if we are going to understand how to change things to make this a safer place for the next generation.

Thank you Poto Williams         

I hope this legislation gets through!

 

I am hopeful that the #metoo movement heralds bigger changes.  It is hard to see us able to move very far when we still have men in power like Donald Trump.  But it's certainly a possibility.  I am grateful that at least here in New Zealand a change in government will likely mean changes to our criminal justice system putting the onus on the accused rather than the accuser.  At least that's a start.

We still have a long way to go.

* Not exactly relevant to me, but important to note that about 1/3 of women who experience rape before the age of 18 experience rape as an adult (US stats - struggling to get the link to work sorry).

** As a kid I didn't really 'get' most other girls.  I generally had different interests, and on hitting puberty early, and becoming even more different, I started to get bullied for those differences.  Until I hit my late 20's all my closest friendships had been with dudes, and I'm grateful to still count some of those guys in my close circle today (although also grateful to have met a bunch of fucking amazing women who get me and love me anyway).

*** When I was 14 I left home and my Mum followed shortly after.  We then got a small flat in Helensville and Mum and Dad had joint custody of my brother.

**** They do this so they can sell us something else - the Kardashian brand.  Because they know that sex sells.  From their perspective, it's smart marketing, but unfortunately most of us don't really watch the Kardashians because we appreciate their marketing skills.

***** I don't think that everyone should feel like they have to talk about this stuff.  For some people, this may not be helpful to their mental wellbeing.  They should not feel like they have to talk about it until they are ready.  That is unfair.  I am comfortable having this dialogue which is why I do it.  Although it may not seem so, there are plenty of things I do not feel comfortable talking about.  Yet.